


Beneath the Mistletoe

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Fiery Templar and the Fearless Assassin [21]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Happy, I GOT IT DONE BEFORE CHRISTMAS IS OVER YAY ME!!, Merry Christmas, Mistletoe, Sweet, and a warm Christmas, punch - freeform, these two deserve happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: Arno and Élise share a private moment during the Christmas season of 1788. Merry Christmas everyone! :)





	Beneath the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!
> 
> Save an author; leave a review.
> 
>  
> 
> Nemo et Nihil
> 
> PS: the outfits are designed by bbsketches of tumblr. Yes, mistletoe was used in Christmas by the 18th Century

Running in new buckle shoes wasn’t the exactly ideal, the leather had yet to stretch and soften, molding comfortably to his feet. It didn’t help that his head swam a bit from too much of Perrine’s eggnog. Arno stopped before the door to the de la Serre ballroom. Élise had returned from Paris for the week, to celebrate Christmas. He tugged at his coat, it was new too, a rich cobalt with gold piping and edging, dark navy breeches and crisp white stockings. He wore a cream waist coat and a bunch bright white lace hung at his throat. He looked around for a mirror, found one and did one last quick check in the mirror. He patted his pocket, the pearl bracelets tucked away, safe and sound. A lock of brown hair fell into his eyes, and he tried to tuck it back into place, but it refused to stay put. Giving up with a sigh, Arno deemed he looked good enough before entering the de la Serre’s ballroom.

            The ballroom had several tables pushed together on either side with several bowls of punch and eggnog surrounded by other tasty treats, like sliced yule cakes, cream puffs, and various roasts and vegetables. The kitchen staff had been slaving away the last few days in preparation for this Christmas celebration. All around the ceiling hung bunches of holly and evergreen boughs. Opposite the grand staircase was a string quartet, playing a waltz.

            Arno looked about the crowd of people. Nobles, high and low, milled about. Ladies dressed in the latest Parisian fashions supported by Queen Marie Antoinette. Wide skirts with decorative bows, and towering wigs and countless curls. One young woman smiled at him, giggling behind her feather fan and batting her eyes. She giggled harder when he flushed. “Care to dance, monsieur?” she asked, holding out a gloved hand.

            “Uh…” he looked about the crowd, the men dressed in their best coats and whitest stockings, their hair powered snowy white, tied at the nape with various colored ribbons.

            There.

            He smirked at the flash of red hair, the come-hither look from across the room. He had found her. “My pardon, mademoiselle.” He bowed. “Perhaps next time.”

            “I shall put your name on my dance card,” she said, “Monsieur—”

            “Arno Dorian,” he said, realizing there was no way of politely withholding his name from the woman.”

            “Until then Monsieur Dorian,” she said, winking at him. He watched her go, and then found Élise again, pushing through the crowd, mindful to keep his gaze from any young woman. Smiling, Élise led him twisting through the crowd until she stopped beneath the stairs. He would have missed her, hiding behind the luxurious ice swan, if she hadn’t snagged his forearm, pulling her into their hiding spot.

            “I see Dieudonnée ensnared you in her clutches,” Élise said, she pouted, jutting out her lower lip in a cute manner. “You said you’ll only ever have eyes for me.”

            Arno opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. “I tried to turn her down, but she insisted on putting my name on her dance card!” he protested. “How could I refuse that! I was too shock to say anything else.”

            “Oh of course,” Élise said, “Arno, Chevalier de Thèlém.”

            His color rose, lips pressed into a line. “Élise.” She burst into a deep belly, laugh, arms wrapping around her stomach.

            “If you could have seen your face.”

            “Don’t do that,” he huffed. “I thought you were mad at me for a moment.”

            “Of course not! Dieudonnée is trying to get her claws into every eligible bachelor she runs across,” Élise said, peeking out from behind the swan, frowning. “It’s women like her I can’t stand. Airheaded twits the lot of them. Only thinking about the next gala or party and fawning over the queen and her inner circle. Wondering how rich their husband will be.” She snorted. “Pah!”

            “I don’t care much for them either,” Arno said, following Élise’s gaze. “They always giggle behind their fans and blush.” He frowned. “They are difficult to talk to.”

            “That’s because they don’t have an original thought in their heads!” she said. “By the way, you’re looking rather sophisticated.” She looked him up and down, tugging at his lace cuffs and his jacket. “Did my father get you that suit?”

            “He did,” Arno said, “Christmas present. Bit tight between the legs, though.”

            “You’re not hiding a rifle by any chase in your breeches, are you?” she smirked.

            Glancing down, his cheeks heating up, Arno shook his head. “No, mademoiselle.”

            “Oh don’t go all proper on me” — she smacked his shoulder — “That’s the last thing I need to night! I mean, look at me!” she twirled around. A dress of blue silk, with a white and gold bodice. Lacy edges on half-sleeves, and at the base of her bodice and neckline. Her poufy skirts also had golden bows. “I feel like a mummy!”

            “You look beautiful,” he said, reaching out and lifting her chin. “You’ve grown more beautiful since I last saw you.” Smiling, as her cheeks colored, he pulled out the silk bag. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

            “You shouldn’t have Arno,” she said, accepting the green silk bag. “Thank you.” She teased it open and pulled out the two pearl bracelets. “Oh, they’re lovely Arno. How did you know I like pearls?”

            “Simple yet elegant? It’s how you do fashion,” he said.

            “They must’ve cost a fortune! I know my father gives you an allowance but to afford two pearl bracelets!” She held them out to him, he took them and put them on her wrist. It felt good, watching her admire her bracelets, twisting and turning her wrist in the candle light. “Thank you, Arno.” She pulled out a small bag from the folds of her skirts. “I didn’t forget you. Merry Christmas.”

            “Thank you Élise,” he said, accepting the gift. “What is it?” he asked as he opened it. He pulled out a platinum chain, a clasp on one end and a silver bar with delicate and detailed filigree at the other. “A watch chain, thank you so much.”

            “I didn’t want you to lose your father’s watch, with all that running about Olivier has you do. I’ll talk to him.”

            He dug into his breast pocket and pulled out the silver watch. He traced the symbol on the cover before popping it open. He wound the watch, watching the small gears spin rapidly. The velvet lining had faded a bit with age, and there was a crack in the glass from when he dropped it as a boy. He attached the chain to the watch, and threaded it through a button hole. He snapped the watch close and tucked it away. “There.” He smiled at Élise.

            “Excellent,” she said, closing the gap between them. “I see your bread is growing in.”  She stroked his cheek and he leaned into her touch.

            “I can shave, if you’re displeased.”

            “No, it gives you a certain… charm,” she said. He swallowed when she pressed herself closer to him. “I like it.”

            “Élise, I—”

            A surprised ear-splitting shriek broke the merry atmosphere asunder. Élise drugged him out from behind the swan, so they both could get a better look at what had just happened. A ring of people had appeared and two lone figures stood. Dieudonnée, her pastel green dress now a horrid shade of soggy brown, the white lace stained pink and the gold edging now a horrid shade of olive. The maid stood terrified, her hands holding the empty punch bowl.

            They were too far away to hear what was going on, but Arno could see the look of outrage and embarrassment on Dieudonnée face. He did feel bad for the maid. Yet, the crowd soon started to chuckle, the rest of the guests weren’t too fond of Dieudonnée. He glanced over at Élise, her hands covering her mouth to hide her mirthful expression and laughter. He couldn’t hold in anymore, and laughed, a hand to his chest, his other on Élise’s shoulder as they laughed at the other girl’s misfortune. Élise turned into his chest, clutching his jacket as hiccups broke her giggles. Still chuckling, he pulled her close, smiling down at her.

            He glanced up, noticing mistletoe overhead. “Élise,” he whispered.

            “Mm?” she looked up with a small hiccup. Her cheeks red from laughing, her eyes bright with joy. He kissed her then, sighing at the warmth of her lips against his own.

            They broke apart, much too soon in his opinion, both of their cheeks a rosy pink. Later, when her father asks about their kiss, he’ll blame Perrine’s eggnog. “Oh,” Élise said, grinning, “mistletoe.”

            “Merry Christmas, Élise,” he said, grabbing her hand.

            “Merry Christmas, Arno.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
